


We'll Get There, Someday

by Space_Cadet_Blues



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Crime Lord Hank Anderson, Engineer Connor, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-23 00:10:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18144020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_Cadet_Blues/pseuds/Space_Cadet_Blues
Summary: Year: 2149. Post WWIII.Connor just wants to leave the city behind and start again somewhere away from the gangs and the violence. Away from the powerful people trying to use his skills for their own means.He'd also very much appreciate it if people stopped calling him 'Baby.'





	We'll Get There, Someday

The scrapyard is quiet when Connor approaches. The groan of heavy machinery and the shouts of workers has ceased. Things are winding down for the evening, deposits are now closed and security will begin their patrol soon.

Connor adjusts his duffle bag on his shoulder, the strap squeaking against his worn leather jacket. He’s still irritated that he has to pay for access. Even though it’s technically an option, he wont attempt to break in to take what he wants. The price for scrap metals and electronics is high and this place is heavily guarded at night. This is the best chop shop in the city and he needs unimpeded access.

Lucky for him then that he’s gotten to know the greasy toll booth operator pretty well by now. He shivers at the unpleasant thought of having to converse with Todd Williams and toys with the idea of just going home. He grits his teeth. He needs those connectors and wires or his project won’t work. He needs it ready by the end of the week or his buyer will look elsewhere. This is his gang's most lucrative meal ticket this month and he can't let them down.

Brushing a loop of hair back from his forehead he walks determinedly up to the booth, scuffed black boots crunching on the gravel.

“Good evening Todd,” he says, as casually as he can manage as he steps into the sickly yellow light bleeding from the cabin.

Todd gives him a smile, one that promises oodles of unpleasantry.

“Well if it isn’t my favourite little junk rat,” Todd says, low and dangerous, like he might jump the desk and escort Connor very roughly off the premises.

Todd likes to think he’s in charge, and unfortunately for Connor he’d be right in this particular scenario. 

Connor attempts to turn on the doe eyed charm.

“Need some spare parts," he says, tracing the edge of the desk with slender fingers, "I was wondering if you’d be willing to help me out.”

Todd smirks and runs a hand over his slicked back hair that clearly hasn’t been washed in days. “You know the drill baby face. 200 Credits or 10 and a face fuck. Your choice.”

Connor tries not to grimace at the nickname. His customers usually call him it mockingly or in jest due to his deceptively young appearance, though now most just call him ‘Baby.’ 

He pretends to mull the offer over before slapping four 50 credit chips onto the desk.

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

It’s a lot of money but he’d prefer that than having to suck off greasy Todd in an even greasier toll booth bathroom.

“You sure?” Todd asks, as though Connor is missing out.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure.”

Todd huffs. “Whatever.”

He pretends to be busy so Connor can take the key card from his desk and duck under the barrier.

Todd is the security manager so he edits the CCTV footage after every one of Connor’s visits, and never hands the access card to Connor directly. He’s also woefully underpaid and loves to undermine the company by letting junk rats pay for the privilege of routing through the sorted scrap for parts.

He never lets anyone near the unsorted.

_If I have to dig you out from under something people are gonna start asking me questions._

Connor walks between looming piles of twisted steel, old carcases of flight cruisers, piles of damaged android parts, and stacks upon stacks of old electronics all casting warped shadows over the muddy trail in the watery orange light.

Connor approaches the sorting office which lays in the shadow of a warehouse where larger parts are stored. The office is closed up now but he uses the pass and taps in a code to get inside. The light above the door blinks green and Connor steps into the draughty cool of the buildings interior.

He knows the place pretty well by now. There’s a room at the back where the walls are lined with floor to ceiling cabinets with large metal draws. Each one contains particular parts salvaged from the scrap. Connor wanders along checking the small screens on the face of each draw to find the parts he needs.

He takes a few components, wires and anything else he thinks might be useful and loads them into the duffle bag.

Once he’s done he heads back out, locking the door behind him and heading back to the booth. He ducks back under the barrier and slaps the card down on the desk before  hurrying across the car park. When he is just out of reach of the glare from the flood lamps he hears Todd call out: “Same time next week baby face!”

Connor flinches. What a stupid nickname.  
Shaking off the disgust he heads into the thicket of trees just off the tarmac to retrieve his hidden hover bike.

He can’t wait for the day he has enough money to get out of this shit hole. They say there’s not much out there in the world since the bombs fell. Just nature intersected with overpopulated cities just like this one. Connor can deal with nature. Its people he has a problem with.

 


End file.
